


I love your face, You love the taste

by lightyears



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Secret Relationship, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 05:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8877562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightyears/pseuds/lightyears
Summary: “We should do it again.”“What?”“I’m serious,” Bellamy says. “It’s not like we like each other, but — we’re good at what we just did. And it’s obviously good for our productivity.”Clarke raises an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest. His eyes once again follow the movement, but instead of looking guilty he just offers her a wolfish grin. Apparently they’re allowed to admire each other’s bodies unabashedly now.“So you’re saying we should fuck for productivity?”“Why not?” He asks, looking at her as though he's genuinely wondering. “It’s not like either of us are seeing anyone. We could be, you know — not-friends with benefits.”She snorts a laugh at that, rolling her eyes when Bellamy grins, pleased. She probably shouldn’t be surprised by his offer. He is right after all; they are very good at what they just did, and neither of them are currently seeing anybody. They could have a good time, channelling their frustrations into something a little more fun than screaming each other hoarse. It’s not like it would be a hassle, sleeping with Bellamy.“Alright,” Clarke says, nodding decisively. “I’m game.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when Beyonce wrote an entire song about being eaten out? Iconic. The title is from that in case you were wondering (it's called Blow, listen to it, it's great).
> 
> I expect this to be about 10 chapters of about 2-4k words each. This is going to be a smutty fic (most likely in every chapter) and I want to challenge myself with more smut writing, so it'll probably be getting dirtier/kinkier as it goes on. If that's not your thing, this isn't the fic for you. If it is, hope you enjoy!!!
> 
> Also a forewarning: I have about zero idea about how college and dorming works in America, and less (negative ideas) about things like clubs and committees (and funding idek), so take what I've written with a grain of salt. It's not going to be a big part of the fic or anything, but if you're ever thinking "rosie what the fuck you have no idea what you're talking about" it is because you are right, and I do not.
> 
> Other than that, thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

It starts, as most things tend to when it comes to Bellamy Blake, with a snide comment.

And it spirals, as it _always does_ when it comes to Bellamy Blake, until Clarke’s right up in his face, voice hoarse from yelling and chest heaving with the effort of it all.

“For the _last time,_ ” she’s saying, thrusting a finger into his chest. Which is very firm, but that’s besides the point. “Money into fundraising is _not a waste._ It brings in _more money._ How are you not getting that?”

He brushes her hand away, stepping forward so that Clarke has to step back, the backs of her thighs hitting her desk. He’s _always doing this,_ she thinks absently; using his body to intimidate. He’s not even that much taller than her, just — broad. Very broad. And this close, he smells deliciously good. Something deep and woodsy and masculine. Again, besides the point.

“I’m not a fucking idiot, Clarke,” Bellamy responds, a low growl. “But it’s still too much money being put into fundraising. We need to prioritise other things, right now.”

Clarke scoffs, folding her arms across her chest. His eyes flicker down with the movement, and she feels a surge of petty pride. She’s got great breasts, and he knows it. It’s awesome.

“We’re not getting anywhere, here,” she says, enjoying the way Bellamy looks back up at her, narrowing slightly guilty eyes.

“Obviously.”

“So you should just leave and cool down. Come back when you’re feeling more level headed, so we can actually be _productive._ ”

He barks a laugh, rolling his eyes. “Level headed? That’s rich coming from you.”

“I’m always level headed,” Clarke says, prim. She pushes at Bellamy’s chest so that he stumbles back, away from her. She needs to clear her head. “Now, out.”

He shakes his head, mouth ticking up into a sardonic smile. “You’re fucking infuriating, princess.”

“Yeah? Well it’s my room, so I’m allowed.”

She’s still got her hand on his chest, pushing him towards the door, but somehow — and she’s honestly not sure _how_ — the next thing Clarke knows, she’s being pushed up against it, Bellamy’s hands either side of her face, crowding her in.

He’s warm and solid beneath her touch, chest rising and falling as he looks at her for a long moment. It makes Clarke squirm, the heat in his gaze, the way his breath tickles her neck. She squeezes her thighs together, flushing at the thought that she’s getting fucking _wet_ because of this. Seriously, _fighting with Bellamy Blake is making her horny._ It is beyond embarrassing.

“We need to work this out,” Bellamy says, voice pitched low and rough. His eyes trail over her face, landing on her lips for a long moment before flicking back to her eyes. A question in them.

“And how do you suppose we do that?” Clarke breathes out.

“I've got an idea,” he says, and before she can even respond he’s surging down, catching her lips in a demanding kiss.

And this is the part Clarke’s not familiar with, when it comes to Bellamy Blake. Because while their arguments have gotten long and heated before, they’ve always been in situations where they've eventually had to back down. In front of the rest of the committee, who are watching on in something like mute horror, or with the promise of other students coming in to take over the room they’ve booked.

A whole semester of this, and they’ve never been in this position: Bellamy following Clarke to her dorm room to finish an argument they couldn’t settle during their allocated meeting time. Bellamy pushing Clarke up against a door and kissing her.

She responds instantly, almost embarrassingly so, her surprised moan being caught by his mouth before she kisses him back. And there’s nothing sweet about the kiss; it’s not soft or slow or intimate. It’s a demanding press of their lips against each other’s, Bellamy sliding his tongue into her mouth when she sucks in a breath and kissing her hard, with fierce passion. Clarke responds with equal fervour, pouring all the pent up anger and frustration and energy she feels towards Bellamy into it.

When he pulls back she chases his lips a little, realises her hands have made their way into his hair, fingers curled around his inky locks. His are on her waist, warm and large and so incredibly promising. She’s always loved his hands; an extremely infuriating fact seeing as they’re attached to someone who makes her blood absolutely boil.

“Fuck,” Bellamy says, rough enough to make her shiver.

“Yeah, please,” Clarke responds, blinking up to find his eyes dark and blown with lust, and it’s all she needs to push up on her toes and press her lips to his again.

It gets them moving — stumbling more like it — in the direction of her bed. Clarke tugs at the bottom of Bellamy’s top, pulling it up to reveal an insanely fantastic chest, all firm muscles and golden brown skin, and a set of abs that she wants to lick. She has about three seconds to admire it before he’s doing the same to her, glorious hands sliding up her sides to pull off her own top. Then it’s toeing off their shoes and tugging down their pants, until they’re both in their underwear, watching the other with a lustful gaze.

“This is happening?” Bellamy asks, pulling Clarke from her thoughts as her eyes linger on the bulge beneath his briefs; how much she wants to get her lips around his cock, for his fingers to curl into her hair as he loses himself in her mouth.

“Oh,” she husks, pushing him down onto her bed; a king single, which is good enough for their purpose. “Definitely.”

Sliding into his lap, Clarke settles her legs on either side of his hips and grinds down. His moan is lost to her lips as she catches his in a bruising kiss, fast and rough and incredibly satisfying. He’s an amazing kisser, which she knew he would be; just the right amount of tongue and teeth for her. Demanding but receptive. It’s a give and take between them, which is almost startling in how appropriate it feels.

They fight more often than not, but they make a good team. They get shit done.

Bellamy begins trailing his mouth across her jaw and down her neck, Clarke arching to give him more access. His breath is hot against her skin, prompting her to press into him further, get as close as she can as he bites and sucks and laves at her skin.

“Don’t leave a hickey where people can see,” she manages in the midst of it all, nails digging into his shoulders. She doesn’t need anyone asking questions. God, Raven would be absolutely _insufferable._

“Just where they can’t,” Bellamy says, shooting her a wolfish grin. “Got it.”

Before she manages a response, something short and snarky because that’s how they are, he’s sliding his hands up her thighs and to her back, finding the clasp of her bra and getting it off her. And then he’s ducking down, mouthing at the swell of her breasts and Clarke can no longer say anything coherent, because her breasts are not only fantastic, they are fucking sensitive, a simple touch making her melt into a whimpering, desperate clone of herself.

“Fuck me,” she gets out, grinding down onto him harder, seeking the friction she needs. She feels unbelievably wet, for how little they’ve actually done, and it almost makes her want to stop, because she knows just how smug Bellamy will be about it. But the much, much larger part of her wants to be fucked, and she can deal with Bellamy’s stupidly handsome face grinning at her smugly when the immediate future with him seems to promise (hopefully multiple) orgasms.

“All in good time, babe,” Bellamy says, and she lets out a breath of a laugh.

It turns into a whine when he catches her nipple in his mouth, circling his tongue around it and letting his teeth nibble lightly. His efforts leave it nice and pebbled, and soon he’s working on her other nipple, giving it the same attention and making Clarke arch into his touch; the roughness of his hands palming the curve of her breasts, the slick warmth of his mouth sending pulses of desire straight to her cunt.

It’s not just her, she knows; she can feel the evidence of Bellamy’s arousal hot and hard against her pussy, can hear it in the gravel of his voice.

“Fuck, you've got amazing tits, babe,” Bellamy says, voice hoarse but still laced with wonder, as he pulls back to admire his work.  


“Bellamy,” she whines, catching her lip between her teeth as her eyes flutter shut.

Her hands were busy exploring his skin, running over the dips and rises of his impressive muscles, warm and smooth under her touch save for a few scars, but now they curl around his shoulders, grounding her to him as she feels like she might float away.

He responds instantly, surging up to bring his lips to hers, kissing her until she’s panting into his mouth. He flips them over a moment later, his body warm and solid and pressing her into her bed. He pulls back to look at her, eyes dark and gaze appreciative.

“You’re flushing, princess,” he says, trailing a finger lightly over her skin, following the pink colouring down her neck, along her collar bone. Doing the same with his tongue.

She tugs at his hair, bringing him back up to look at her before he gets him mouth back on her breasts.

“Don’t call me princess,” she says, wishing her voice was strong and firm instead of the desperate husk that it is.

He smirks, and it’s infuriatingly hot. She wants that mouth on her, everywhere.

“Princess,” he says, drawing the word out. It makes her shiver. “I think you like me calling you princess.”

“I fucking hate you.”

He grins, presses it to her sternum. “Feeling’s mutual, babe.”

He holds her gaze as he slides down her body, mouth trailing over her skin, sucking a mark over the curve of her breast, the swell of her stomach. His fingers curl around the waistband of her panties and he slides them down her legs before settling at her cunt, shoulders nudging her thighs apart, leaving her completely bare to him.

The first touch of his finger pulls another shiver from Clarke, the feeling wisping down her spine and rolling her hips into his hand. He parts her outer lips, finding her slick with arousal.

“Oh, princess,” he chuckles, leaning up to look at her. “You’re so fucking wet.”

Clarke groans, throwing her arm over her eyes. A flush of embarrassment joins the already present one of arousal.

“Fighting get you all hard up, babe?” He asks, teasing. He removes his hand from her pussy when she doesn’t respond, instead sliding it over to her hip, prompting her with a squeeze. “Answer me, princess.” He nuzzles the inside of her thigh. “Does fighting with me make you wet?”

“Yes,” Clarke says, voice wavering with want. It’s — surprising, that his question, his insistence, is making her feel this way. That it makes her pulse with desire, with need. “Yes.”

She can feel his approving smile against her thigh, and his voice is muffled by her skin.

“Good.”

He moves back to her pussy, sliding his fingers up and down her slit, circling around her clit without directly touching it. She pushes into his touch, impatient, and is thankful when Bellamy gives her more. He slides two fingers into her easily, and she clenches down at the intrusion, relaxing quickly with the slow strokes he gives her.

“You feel so good, babe,” he says, curling his fingers to hit that spot that makes her toes curl. She lets out a little whine, feeling herself warm with the praise. “You want my mouth on you?” She nods, desperate. “Yeah? Where do you want it?”

“My clit,” she says, rolling her hips into him. “Fuck — my clit, please.”

“Whatever you want, princess.”

His mouth is on her before she can respond and Clarke moans with the feel of his tongue, licking up until he reaches her clit. He swirls around the bud like he did with her nipple, before flicking across it lightly, experimentally, seeing what she likes. Clarke sucks in a sharp breath when he finds the right, sensitive spot, hand moving down to curl tightly into his hair. His hum tells her he knows what he’s just found, and the following minutes he uses that knowledge to tease her, building her up until she’s right on the edge before letting her back down.

It’s a sweet kind of torture, if Clarke’s being honest; a game she both loves and hates. He continues fucking her with his fingers, a steady thrum of pleasure that she thrusts into, as he draws out the sharper kind by working his mouth and tongue over her clit. It’s fucking intoxicating, and soon she’s unable to help the string of moans and words of pleasure falling from her mouth; the _more_ s and _please_ s and _Bellamy_ s. 

“Fuck, Bell,” she whimpers, tugging him closer, pressing into him harder. She’s _so close_ it feels almost unbearable. “I’m gonna — I’m gonna come.”

Apparently he’s feeling kind, because he responds by quickening his fingers and sucking at her clit in earnest, and her pleasure reaches a peak, the coil wound tight at her core snapping until she’s clenching around him. The tingling warmth spreads from her pussy, arching her back and curling her toes, and he works her through the pleasure, free hand moving to her hip as she trembles, thumb rubbing against it soothingly.

She’s breathing hard as she comes down, fingers still carded through Bellamy’s hair and limbs loose and heavy. She feels Bellamy pull his fingers from her, and opens her eyes in time to see him lick the taste of her off of them. When he catches her eyes on him she flushes, tugs on his hair until he moves up her body, and pulls him down for a kiss.

She tastes herself on his tongue, licks into his mouth until it’s just Bellamy.

“Glad you’ve found a better use for your tongue than arguing with me,” she breathes out, when she pulls back to suck in some much needed air.

“Wouldn’t need to argue if you weren’t so fucking stubborn,” he counters, cocking an eyebrow.

She scoffs, manoeuvres herself until she can flip them over, sit back on his thighs. She likes being on top, and he’s definitely had too much control up until now. She doesn’t want it going to his head.

“I can’t believe you’re calling _me_ stubborn.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, leaning up onto his elbows to regard her, and Clarke lets her hands rake over his chest, down his incredible abs. It’s a lot to take in, with her post-orgasm muddled brain; so much _skin_ , all warm and tan and gorgeous.

“Maybe not stubborn,” he says, pulling Clarke from her thoughts. “Just bad at handling money.”

She narrows her eyes at him, the challenge in his eyes, before letting her gaze flick down to his cock. It’s pressing hard against his briefs, and she knows how to win this. Or at least shut him up. She palms him, rewarded with both a thrust into her touch and a strangled sound falling from his lips.

“Bad at handling what now?” She asks, smug, and leans down to kiss him before he can respond.

It’s just like the first kiss was, hot and hard and demanding, both letting their bodies ease the frustration and tension that so easily builds between them. Clarke bites at his lip and Bellamy growls, surging forward until he’s sitting up and she’s rolling her hips against his cock.

Finding the waistband of his briefs, Clarke snaps it against his hip as she pulls away.

“Get that fucking thing off you,” she says, pushing herself off of him to reach over to her bedside table. 

She finds what she’s looking for quickly, pleased to see that Bellamy’s completely naked when she looks back, and _oh,_ she is very lucky. Bellamy’s cock is _gorgeous;_ hard and thick and standing proud, tip dripping with pre-cum. She licks her palm — can’t help herself — and curls it around him, giving him a squeeze, satisfied when his head tips back and he lets out a low groan.

“Fuck, Clarke,” he growls when she flicks her thumb over the head, smearing his pre-cum and moving down to stroke him properly. She moves to straddle his thighs and he leans back on his two hands, their eyes finding each other, dark and heated.

“Changing funding is a bad idea, Bellamy,” Clarke says, mouth ticking up in a smile when he huffs out a breath. It sounds both amused and exasperated, but she might be reading into things. “The system we have currently has worked well for us. We shouldn’t mess with things.”

“We need to expand our resources, Clarke, and that means money,” Bellamy manages to counter, but only barely. Clarke speeds up her strokes, grinning when he thrusts into her hand and seems to lose his trail of thought.

“Money we don’t have to spare. Money we need to get _through fundraising._ ”

“Fuck, princess,” Bellamy curses, moving to support himself with one hand, the other finding her wrist to stop her efforts on his cock. His eyes flick to the condom in Clarke’s free hand and she gets the message, pulling her hand from him in favour of opening the packet.

She’s rolling it onto his hard length a moment later, and then Bellamy’s hands are finding her hips as she perches above him, lining herself up. They let out simultaneous moans as she sinks down onto him slowly, and the slight sting of his size makes way for pleasure once he’s buried in her.

Clarke rolls her hips slowly, just getting the feel for him as her hands find purchase on his chest, before rising up and sliding down onto him once more. They find a rhythm quickly, something hard and fast that has Bellamy thrusting up into her, Clarke leaning down to meet him for a dirty kiss, moans passing between their lips.

The tension between them pulses hot through her veins, channelled into the slap of their skin, the bite to their kiss, the way their hands touch rough and bruising. She probably wouldn’t consider it hate sex, because despite everything she doesn’t actually _hate_ Bellamy, but it’s something close; nothing sweet or soft about it.

That familiar feeling builds in her core as she continues to ride him hard, as they pick up their pace, and she knows Bellamy’s at the edge of control when he stutters in their rhythm. His thumb finds her still sensitive clit and gives it a light pinch, sending a spark up her spine that makes her moan.

“Fuck yeah, babe, just like that,” Bellamy husks out, beginning to rub tight circles to the nub. He fucks up into her harder and faster and it’s only a few thrusts later that she loses herself, coming hard.

Clarke clenches around Bellamy’s cock, the warmth of him delicious as she trembles above him, and it pushes him over the edge too. He pulses deep inside her, letting out a broken moan she quickly swallows as the white hot pleasure courses through her body.

They stay like that for a long minute, Clarke absolutely spent as she slumps down on Bellamy’s still heaving chest. He’s so _warm_  and so _firm,_ and she kind of hates that she has to move off of him to save them from any weird post-sex intimacy, but she still does, rolling over until she’s all but pressed up against the wall.

“We don’t have the time to reorganise everything right now,” Clarke finds herself saying once she’s caught her breath, needing to step back onto familiar ground. Bellamy begins to protest but Clarke shoots him a look. “We don’t, Bellamy. There’s too much going on. But we can look into it seriously as we’re applying for funding for next semester. Re-evaluate where our money is going; where it’s being used well and where we can tighten our budget.”

“We should be doing that anyway,” he grumbles, and they end up getting into it again, but it’s a much more productive discussion than it was before they had sex. They’ve come to an agreement within fifteen minutes, which is probably a record for them. “This was a good idea,” Bellamy says, as he gets himself dressed.

“Yeah, it was,” she agrees, finding her top and slipping it back on. “We definitely let off some…steam.”

Bellamy sends her a shit eating grin and Clarke even finds herself laughing a little, ducking her head with it.

“We should do it again.”

“What?”

“I’m serious,” Bellamy says. “It’s not like we like each other, but — we’re good at what we just did. And it’s obviously good for our productivity.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest. His eyes once again follow the movement, but instead of looking guilty he just offers her a wolfish grin. Apparently they’re allowed to admire each other’s bodies unabashedly now.

“So you’re saying we should fuck for productivity?”

“Why not?” He asks, looking at her as though he's genuinely wondering. “It’s not like either of us are seeing anyone. We could be, you know — not-friends with benefits.”

She snorts a laugh at that, rolling her eyes when Bellamy grins, pleased. She probably shouldn’t be surprised by his offer. He is right after all; they are very good at what they just did, and neither of them are currently seeing anybody. They could have a good time, channelling their frustrations into something a little more fun than screaming each other hoarse. It’s not like it would be a _hassle_ , sleeping with Bellamy.

“Alright,” Clarke says, nodding decisively. “I’m game.”

“Yeah?”

“I do like getting laid, Bellamy,” she says, rolling her eyes. “And if we’re going to be more productive this way, who am I to argue?” He laughs, surprised, and Clarke smirks. “So, ground rules?”

“Ground rules?”

“Yeah, like. If you wanna hook up with other people we’d have to use a condom every time. If not, we can be a bit more flexible. Is this going to be a booty call situation, or just when we feel like it after meetings? How much of a secret are we planning to keep it? That kind of stuff.”

“Jesus,” Bellamy breathes out, shaking his head. “How does your brain work that quickly?”

Clarke screws her nose up. “Shut up.”

“Never.” He runs a hand through his hair, apparently thinking her questions through with real consideration. “I’m happy to hook up exclusively for now and re-evaluate if needed. Booty call, definitely. And there is no way this is getting back to my sister.”

“Yeah, I’m not exactly eager to tell her, either,” Clarke agrees. “Or anyone else for that matter. It’ll be easier, just between us.”

“I really don’t think I could handle Jasper finding out.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. He calls us Mum and Dad enough. This would not help at all.”

Bellamy laughs, a warm rumble, and Clarke finds herself smiling. They’re not like this very often, easy conversations and shared jokes, but it’s nice; makes her feel warm. Just a little.

“Well they’re some pretty solid ground rules,” he says, nodding slowly. “But I’ve got one more.”

“I’m all ears.”

Bellamy regards Clarke for a long moment, expression turning serious enough to make her curious, if not a little uncertain. Then, “You are not, under any circumstances, allowed to fall in love with me,” he says, solemn, and all she can do is roll her eyes.

“I will try my very best,” Clarke assures drily, pulling her door open in an unsubtle hint that it’s time for him to go. She has anatomy notes to go through, after all, and she’s not sure her professor would take that she was getting some  _hands on experience_ as an excuse for flunking a test.

“You do that, princess,” Bellamy says, thankfully taking her hint and heading out of her dorm room without any further prompting. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Sounds good, Bellamy,” she responds with a knowing smirk, which he returns quickly, and yeah — it certainly does.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I posted on here, but I hope you guys enjoyed!
> 
> Leaving comments and kudos will make me very happy!!!


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